Black Enemy
by Chips and Fish
Summary: HP/LOTR - The Valar attempt to make amends for unwittingly setting loose Morgoth upon the Wizarding World, but can a war-scarred Harry Potter accept a new beginning? Or being treated like a child for one hundred years?
1. Chapter 1

AN - I'll keep this short. This will eventually be **non-graphic M/M** between Harry and a canon character of LOTR. Just who will be kept in the black for now. Any graphic M/M scenes will be on the adultfanfiction site version, under the same name. If you have a problem with this kind of writing/relationship, either get over it, ignore it, or find another fic. Ideas / questions / comments are all welcome.

* * *

Sparks of amarillo-warmth capered across his eyelids, stroked his brow and parted lips. The clean, crisp taste of a forest in autumn spilled generously into his lungs. The rustle and hush of an early woodland morning lapped at his ears. A sweet, melodious birdcall was hesitantly answered by a near-by counterpart. He'd never heard the winsome tune before, and would have rather liked to know if the birds were as beautiful as their voices. But the desire was a detached wisp of a thought, fleeing from his conscious almost as soon as he'd had it.

There was something wrong, something out of order. He was so dizzy, so disoriented. His heart beat at a rabbit's pace, though he could not feel his blood rushing through his veins. His stomach felt alternatively twisted and flat beneath his abdomen, fluttering with an insecure need to put itself aright. His skin tingled and flushed with heat, though he could feel the wind caress a good amount of his body as it passed him. He wanted to open his eyes, felt he should. But he wanted to remember… he wanted to remember what had happened - how he'd gotten there - why.

Pain lanced through the scar, seared his skull and fizzled into his mind. He sucked air in sharply through gritted teeth as he brought his hands up to clutch at his forehead. The birdsong ceased, the forest grew grave and silent. He caught a whimper before it could escape, rolled onto his side and pressed his cheek against the cool grass. Faces, looking at him in hope - in fear. Voices, rallying each other for his ears, growling and shouting. Screams. Screams of the dying, of the hunted. Magic. Dark curses burnt the air in their paths as they hissed so close by - too close by. The snaps and sparks and implosions of duels all around him, everywhere.

A war. The war. The enemy, a terrible darkness. Overwhelming. All consuming. A creature beyond imagination, beyond comprehension. A god. A dreadful god.

It had called itself Morgoth.

Spewing forth from hell - or so the whispered tale went - the huge being conquered every aspect of human civilization - nay, the very world itself - within months. There were no more forests, except the burnt and hollow ghosts of memory. There were no cities, except the huge, loathsome gatherings of dark creatures evolved enough to make themselves basic shelter as they marched ever onward. No Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. No schools of magic at all, except for what could be hurriedly instructed by a campfire in an attempt to make a few decently skilled light-soldiers.

Soldiers that would ultimately fail. Fall to the undeniable supremacy of Morgoth. Or be swallowed alive by their own darker natures and become one of it's countless minions.

He couldn't repress any more whimpers, and he felt tears trek down his cheeks through the painful wave of memories.

He - who should have led them to victory, who was their Chosen One. Their Savior. He had lingered on through the war, which had swiftly become a hopeless rebellion. Through his tenacity, his sheer will power, his uncanny luck - through it all he'd fought and survived.

Such could not be said for… everyone else.

The final uprising, quickly and quietly quashed by dark wizards and the foul, monstrous creatures that had come with the god. He'd planned it with his few surviving fighters for weeks, intending to dent Morgoth's hold on the magical community. Instead, he had cemented it.

His breaths began to slow, began to slip into despair along with him.

Dead.

The only explanation. Nothing green survived in Morgoth's world, no sunlight, no birdsongs.

He - Harry Potter, Last Hope of the World - had died.

* * *

Elladan was slightly miffed at the curious response his brother Elrohir had sung back to him, for the Misty Mountains were quiet clear of Orcs or other evils in such near vicinity to Rivendell - and their coded bird-whistling was to be used as a precaution only.

However, Elrohir seemed to have found something - some_one_, if Elladan was hearing his twin correctly - and was growing quite excited about it. Elladan approached his brother's position, slipping through the trees like he was a part of the fauna. What he saw when he breeched the final green barrier between himself and his sibling almost shocked his half-elven heart into a much too early death.

"Brother," his twin gasped up at him, from a kneeling position upon the ground. One hand held on weakly to his bow, while the other had yet to move from a seemingly innocent gesture of removing the tiny stranger's cloak-hood from his face. The pained but seemingly unconscious mask of a child who appeared to be no more than ten years old, framed by wildly endearing crow-black locks, was what greeted the sight of the twins, but not altogether what gave them pause.

It was the blood, seeping from an open wound upon the child's forehead. The sharply contrasting blue-black bruises upon his slender neck. The untouchable, fragile, haunting beauty. The twin, pointed ears.

"'Roh," Elladan almost couldn't keep himself from succumbing to his shock. His breath came quick and shallow. Insurmountable odds, he could deal with. Countless hordes of foes and certain death, not a problem at all. But the slim, heartbreakingly beautiful impossibility that lay curled up and alone between him and his twin - Elladan felt sure he'd never overcome the start, which bordered dangerously on traumatizing.

"He barely breaths, 'Adan," Elrohir whispered, not un-overcame himself by the sheer impact of such a wonder. "We need a healer."

They shared the briefest of stares. Only one elf they knew - trusted - would handle such a charge with enough expertise to avoid injuring the delicate elfling further. And their beloved father, Elrond, had long since sailed for Valinor.

A hopeless fear of losing the elfling took hold of both of them. It smothered every other emotion the twins had, and they simply looked at the dreadfully mistreated child with despair in every corner of their souls.

"Brother-mine," Elrohir murmured quietly, "what must we do?"

But they were both without answers.


	2. Chapter 2

AN - I've picked myself a Beta, so that end of business is covered. There were lots of questions in your reviews, which hopefully I can answer through my writing. Enjoy this chapter, all your thoughts and comments are appreciated.

* * *

There were simply too many questions - too many possibilities. Elladan felt sure in his heart that whatever story the elfling had to tell when he regained consciousness would be incredible - but it would never match the horrible fantasies playing out through his mind at that moment.

Once the twins had - gently as they could - carried their precious discovery back to their home - the abandoned Rivendell - Elrohir and Elladan had simply cleaned the child of the blood and dirt, then changed his battered clothing - a dreadfully oversized black robe and matching cloak - and settled him into the softest mattress their peaceful home had to offer.

They had not left the bedside since, and still they wondered what they - warriors in every inch of their bodies and souls - could do to ease the suffering of the elfling.

* * *

As soon as the thought of death took him, Harry felt a storm of familiar, abiding fury rise up from within him. But pain lanced through every inch of his skeleton, of his mind. It plunged him immediately into the nothing-scape of occlumency, and would have dragged him down into unconscious helplessness had he not been fighting just such an enemy for far too long to simply give in to it. He reached - _reached_ - for his magic, sought to heal his injuries and give him back his strength. He felt it reach back for him, felt it stir and boil, felt its impatience, its displeasure. He'd never been able to feel such a thing from it before - always, it had only been _ready. _Now, it seemed as if… as if…his magic were an entire world away.

_A barrier… some sort of repelling-spell? No, too complex… a potion, must be._

And his next thought…

_Unacceptable._

He prepared to take command of his errant magic, prepared to rip it out of whatever unnatural chains held it from him. He prepared - and was stopped.

'_Miluir,' _cooed into his ear, such a gentle voice. Feminine, sorrowful. As if she wept for something that could never be right. Harry didn't want to be the one that she wept for, and yet he felt sure that he was. _'Do not bring it here. It has no place. It has no kindred. It will not help you be what you can be here.'_

Harry gritted his teeth. A trick? Some hallucination? Just what was the enemy trying to accomplish?

'_Coth o chothen,' _there she was again, at his ear, making him want to weep with her. _'Be at peace. You do not have to do this thing you feel you must.'_

She said no more, and Harry felt she would ultimately leave the decision up to him. But if that were the case, then he felt she should have made a better argument.

_Peace is not my life._

It was his answer, and though he heard her sob, he felt a distinct spark of pride come from her.

Then she was gone, and Harry's magic roared to be reunited with him once more.

Harry commanded.

* * *

"'Adan," the gasp of his brother made Elladan's entire body seize with apprehension. But a tiny moan from their charge made him gasp as well, snapping up from the seat he had eventually passed out in, and rushing to the side of his twin.

"His wounds," Elrohir said breathlessly, gesturing towards the rapidly disappearing bruises on the child's neck.

"Healed - as if the Valar themselves care for him," Elladan shook his head in wonder, though silently thanked the aforementioned beings for doing what the brothers could not. Another moan escaped their elfling's mouth, and Elrohir gently smoothed his head over the child's brow.

"Be at peace, little one," Elladan said softly.

"Not that again," the elfling replied roughly, his brow creased in discomfort, his hands smoothing over the coverlet, almost as if they searched for something.

* * *

Harry allowed his magic to embrace him, to soak his tired muscles and strengthen his soar heart. Immediately, he felt a sort of confusion stemming from their reunion. Something was off - wasn't wrong, per say - but certainly wasn't right. He felt lighter, almost weightless. He'd always been more acrobatic than muscular, but he'd certainly been more substantial than _this_ the last time he'd bothered to check.

He heard voices, movement, and any annoyance over his wasted-away appearance burned to the ground in the face of a possible threat. Had he been captured? Starved until he would be unable to hold his own against a niffler, much less another man?

His captures spoke, smoothed his bangs away from his scar. He longed to knock the hand away and curse them within an inch of their lives, but he wouldn't be able to do much without his wand. He searched nearby, not truly expecting to find it, but still a bit disappointed when he didn't. Wandless magic was possible, but unfocused and with a marked difference in power. Harry's magic also tended to be quiet unruly when given a little leeway.

When a familiar statement was uttered, Harry couldn't help but snap out a bitter comeback. No, he would not be going easy on these dark creatures, no matter how beautiful their voices were.

He stilled himself, took a deep breath, expelled it, and opened his eyes.

* * *

Honorary Reviewer of Chapter 1 - Steven Kodaly _"Well, that's one way to put the axe to the Wizarding World..."_


	3. Chapter 3

__

Authors Note -

Thank you, those who read and commented. I personally abhor huge author notes with review responses, so if you have a question you want answered feel free to e-mail me. Ideas / questions / concerns are all welcome.

Chapter Three - _In Which Harry Acts His Age_

For the past year, Harry had seen nothing beautiful. He hadn't truly been searching - considering such a mission was laughably useless when compared to the struggle for life that consumed his every deed - but his heart had thirsted for a tiny break in the hideousness that filled his days and nights. A friendly smile, a blossoming flower - anything except his withered, blood-stained memories. Anything except monsters, pain, death, grief, and despair.

The first glimpse of his captors was the one true, beautiful thing his heart had hungered for. Their dark hair fell loosely across their shoulders. Their eyes watched his every move with a tenderness and concern he'd never before seen. Their twin faces would be entombed in his mind for all time as the single most gorgeous thing he'd ever glimpsed.

Perhaps his own expression gave away how dazed by them he was, for they each dropped to their knees at his side and grasped his hands. They murmured to him, endearments and other such nonsense, while his mind attempted to kick start back up again.

_Glamours_, his very first gasping thought was. For some reason, the enemy was using glamour-magic. They'd never bothered before - perhaps even gloried in their terribleness - but Harry knew that no human could be so beautiful. He wrenched his arms away and reached for his wand holster on instinct. His face burned when he realized again that not only was his wand gone, his cloak and robe were missing as well. The only thing keeping _all _of him from those perfect eyes was a thin, very soft coverlet.

He gritted his teeth and snapped out a spell to get them to back off, but instead of the desired shock-and-awe bursts of light and color to warn his captors that Harry still wielded power, there was only a tiny pop-and-fizzle ball of sparks - complete with a high-pitched whistle - that zoomed around their heads, sputtered out after a few measly seconds, then plopped down upon the floor with a wheeze before going utterly dead.

"Damn," and to top it all off, Harry's voice squeaked at the end.

But they did go completely still beside him, each looking like he'd managed to conjure up a hippogriff out of thin air instead of failing miserably to protect himself. Perhaps they were surprised he hadn't done more.

"What…" the one to his left spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.

"… was _that_?" the one to his right finished, appearing breathless.

A vein popped in Harry's forehead.

"Alright! I'm obviously a little stressed out right now, being a prisoner and all. If you're not impressed, you've only yourselves to blame."

He was not sulking. But he did feel his lips move into a tiny pout.

His captors managed to compose themselves, then looked at him again. Harry felt intensely uncomfortable being the focus of their attention, even if he repeatedly reminded himself that they were probably incredibly horrendous under all the cosmetic magic.

"Little one," the captor to his left breathed, placing his hands near but not touching Harry's arm, as if he were afraid to frighten him. "I am Elladan, and this is my brother Elrohir."

He nodded towards his twin, who mimicked his position and caught Harry's gaze with his own.

"You are not a prisoner any longer, _miluir_."

The name - an endearment, Harry somehow knew - sounded familiar. Someone had called him that before… the weeping woman. Were the two men connected to her?

Doubt began to stir in his mind. He couldn't bring himself to believe the woman had evil intentions, and he was usually incredibly capable of believing such things about anyone.

"I…" he glanced between the two of them. "You… freed me?"

Had he been captured by the enemy, only to regain consciousness once the men rescued him? As far-fetched as it seemed, a huge part of Harry was ready to trust the men completely, as if they were kin. He attempted to shake off the strange feeling of being _safe_ with them.

"We found you," Elladan spoke, slowly reclaiming Harry's hand as he did so. Harry allowed him, though his discomfort increased. "You were unconscious, severely wounded, and alone in our woods."

"We are not healers," Elrohir continued, his eyes intense upon Harry's face. "We were convinced you would eventually succumb to your injuries, but…"

He looked as if he wanted an explanation, but had no intentions of forcing Harry to give one. Harry began to relax minutely, reaching up his free hand to scratch the back of his head as he thought about trusting the men.

"Well," he began, then hesitated. "The last thing I remember is entering Old London with my squadron. We were trying to be stealthy about it, you know, but one of us managed to alert a group of orcs and -"

He was cut off by their sharp gasps and narrowed eyes. They looked magnificent in their obvious wrath, but Harry fell quiet as he blinked at them.

"Orcs? You fought orcs?" Elladan hissed.

"A squadron!" Elrohir repeated in angry disbelief. "An elfling - going to battle! I cannot abide it!"

They looked adamant, and Harry wondered what he'd said to set them off. But… had Elrohir called him an _elf_? As in _oh-no's-Master-I-must-be-punishin'-myself-now-for-burnin'-your-toast_ house elf? He must have, because that was the only type of elf Harry knew about.

"Wait a bloody second," his brow furrowed and he glared at them. "I may not be as pretty as you two, but I'm not an elf! And yes, I fought orcs! What else do you expect me to do?"

There was no such thing as a non-combatant in Morgoth's world. And Harry would never willingly choose death, no matter how desperate things became. He'd already died enough times - through his own fate in a time so far away it might as well have been a different world - through watching each of his friends meet their own end on the battlefield - through mastering all of the Unforgivables and even creating a few new ones, then not hesitating to use them on whoever he went up against.

He'd been told by his fellow soldiers that though he might be small and wiry, he had the eyes and the instincts of a War Mage. Harry had taken pride in that, and certainly didn't appreciate the seemingly derogatory term Elrohir used to call him.

After he'd simmered in his own anger for a long couple of moments, he finally noticed that they were staring at him again. When he opened his mouth to give them an old fashioned telling-off, Elrohir held up his hands in a peaceful gesture.

"I meant no offense, young one," he placed one hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was naked - and both of them apparently had no problem touching him. He felt his cheeks flare with heat, but Elrohir continued to speak. "But certainly, you must have a very strange tale to tell."

The gentlest of nudges to change the topic, and Harry felt helplessly as if he'd already forgiven them. Who were these men, that he reacted to them so?

"Little one - young one," he repeated as he rolled his eyes, "I'll be twenty in a week, mind you. My name…" he grew quiet, wondering if giving them his true name would be the most intelligent thing to do. Regardless of his confusing desire to trust them, he didn't know what side they were on.

While he silently argued with himself, the twins shared a look.

* * *

"Twenty," Elrohir mouthed to his brother, sadness evident in his gaze.

"So young," Elladan responded silently back, shaking his head slightly.

"Well. You can call me Harry," the elfling finally said, then looked at both of them sharply as if expecting a reaction of some sort to the name.

"Harry?" Elladan blinked, then rolled the name a bit on his tongue. Indeed, he'd never heard anything like it. He put a slight lilt to the pronunciation, so that that is came out more like 'ah-_ray_'.

"Yeah," the elfling gave the warrior a crooked glance, then continued. "Well. As I was saying, we were making our way into Old London, when orcs sounded the alert. We were in the middle of fighting our way out when…"

The child scratched the back of his head again, this time coming back with blood upon his fingers. The elves hissed in surprise, each of them reaching for the wounded elfling. Elrohir gently clasped the child's head in his hands while Elladan inspected the cut beneath the ebony hair. It was shallow, but looked as if it had opened only recently. There was no blood on the pillow, so where had the wound come from?

"Oi!" Harry grasped Elrohir's arms and shook himself free. "It's only a curse. Give me a second to break it."

* * *

Apparently when his magic had returned, so had any lingering curses. Harry sighed in annoyance and closed his eyes, concentrating on the _wrongness_ that the curse felt like. Not a very imaginative piece of magic, it could still be nasty when used correctly - a physical incarnation of the forget-me-not spell with a sinister edge to it, meant to keep wounds open long enough to drain the victim of their blood before a proper Healer could see to them.

Harry's magic responded sluggishly to his commands, only just able to break the curse and begin the healing process before it was utterly exhausted. Harry swore out loud, tenderly poking at the cut.

"Could you heal this for me?"

He glanced at the twins a little hesitantly, frowning when both of them slightly shrugged.

"We are not healers," Elrohir said, then reached for a basin of water and some plain looking bandages. Harry kept still while the men cleaned and wrapped his wound, wondering again why they made him feel so safe.

"You've got to know a few spells for this," Harry muttered, but not loud enough for them to truly hear him. His magic's sleepiness was rubbing off on him, and he realized just how long the day had truly been.

The men must have noticed his energy wavering, for they gently laid him back down on the bed and whispered that he was safe - that he would never have to fight again - that he was beloved and precious.

Their words were both confusing and comforting, but Harry was too far gone to question them. As he lost his will to stay awake, he heard one of them say one last thing.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Harry. It has been centuries since it has housed an elfling, but it will cherish you as we do."


End file.
